Monday, July 28, 2014

The Preacher Comes to Dinner


My, if that chicken don't look good. Fried chicken in a iron skillet is a dish fit fot a king . . . or a preacher. Law, that reminds me . . . did I ever tell you about the time, oh, it was many a year ago, that the preacher came to dinner?

It was way back when Luther was alive and Cletus, he must have been nine or ten.  Well, Luther had asked the preacher to take Sunday dinner with us and it just so happened that I had a gang of young cockerels right at fryer size. So I'd butchered one early that morning and had it ready to fry when we come back from church. I had a world of other things -- it was this time of year and there was fresh roasting ears and tomatoes and cabbage for slaw and beans and yellow squash and fried okra and mashed potatoes and biscuits and I don't know what all.

And that preacher set in to eating. 'Sister Gentry,' he says, 'I love fried chicken; I mean, I can hide me some chicken."

And he commenced with the white meat and when it was all gone, he reached for a drumstick. I whispered to Cletus to run out and get another chicken and fix it for cooking right quick. That boy was such a hand to butcher things.

So Cletus brought me another young rooster and I jointed it and fried it and had it ready just as the preacher was gnawing on the last wing. He set to on the next platter, saying that there wasn't nothing better than fried chicken, hot out of the skillet and I whispered to Cletus that he best go get another un . . .

 When there weren't nothing left of them three birds but a pile of bones -- and the most of that by the preacher's plate, the preacher leaned back in his chair, kindly patting his belly. He pulled out a toothpick and was working away with it when, out in the chicken yard, my old rooster began to crow like one thing.

'Just listen to that feller,' says the preacher, the toothpick waggling in the side of his mouth. 'Don't he sound proud?'

Luther, who hadn't said pea-turkey all through the meal, looked at that pile of bones by the preacher's plate. "Humph,' says he, 'you'd sound proud too if you had three sons in the ministry.' 








12 comments:

B. Rogers, Living in Black Mountain said...

I bet you can hear my howls of laughter right from my holler to yours! Lovely and thanks Ms. Birdie.

Star said...

What a story and a nice reminder of Miss Birdie who lives on in your books and on my shelf. Thank you for the laugh Vicki.

Brian Miller said...

three sons sacrificed for the greater good....

its funny, we were up north on vacation and there was a restaurant that was advertizing authentic north carolina fried chicken..lol....

Darla said...

LOL That was GREAT! I totally didn't expect the ending. Kudos!

Maiasaura WinterHeart said...

I'm in MA now after living in NC for years, and boy if they don't advertise EVERYthing from authentic NC here...what is up with that?

And, yes, about Birdie, yes.

I wonder do you have to put flour on the chicken because I don't use starches anymore...but dang, that looks good. How long do you fry it for, if you don't mind?

Vicki Lane said...

Maiasaura -- yikes -- no starches? I have no idea how one would approximate the Southern Fried experience without flour. I'd just settle for rubbing the skin with olive oil and spices and baking it at 375. The skin would crisp up and be tasty -- I don't know that anything would be gained by frying, in this case.

Maiasaura WinterHeart said...

No, no starches. It's been a long haul; I did not make and execute the decision all at once! I do usually do like you said. I have also a Fry Baby (remember those?)but I thought trying it in a pan might be less messy. And, I can use coconut flour or almond flour.

Vicki Lane said...

One of those might work -- if they would get crispy. This link is very similar to the procedure I follow -- though I usually dispense with the buttermilk. http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/alton-brown/fried-chicken-recipe.html

Maiasaura WinterHeart said...

Going to look now-- thanks!

Maiasaura WinterHeart said...

Actually, that sounds scary...I know I would set my kitchen on fire, lol...Best for me to stick to the Fry Baby or the oven!

NCmountainwoman said...

Love the story. Reminds me of my Southern Baptist upbringing when the preacher often came for Sunday dinner. And it was always fried chicken.

Jim Egerton said...

Once again Vicki you take me back to our farm in Mill River and chasing chickens and cutting their heads of with a ax (they ran around like chickens with their heads cut of), then throwing them in hot water (whew what a stink) and plucking the feathers then burning the little feathers of) (whew what a stink)gutting and then finally cutting them up and frying. Was all worth it.